Apparently I’m obsessing on birds again. Bear with me, for I surely will get off this subject in short order, and on to something else.

But ya see, I was sitting at my table, looking out the window of the trailer, across the split rail fence, past the field of wildflowers, and out into the pasture dotted with dairy cows, and some birds flew by. And sometimes, that’s all it takes.

A harrier glided past, low over the ground, eyes down, intent on finding a tasty rodent. This time of year, she is probably feeding babies in her nest. A vulture soared on high, also intent on breakfast, but his dinner wouldn’t move as quickly.

And then a raven roared in, hotly pursued by two smaller blackbirds. The raven must have been seeking eggs for his breakfast, and the two blackbirds clearly didn’t want him dining at their nest. So they were out to get him.

I sometimes forget that when I hear a red-winged blackbird singing from his perch at the tip of a tall cattail, or the mockingbird caroling from the rooftop, or the white-crowned sparrow chirping in a tree, that they are all proclaiming, at the top of their lungs, their ownership of the surrounding turf.

They are claiming all the food within reach, or more importantly, their nest site, and they are warning off any trespassing bird.

“I’m the boss here, and this land is mine. Enter at the risk of your life, for I will poke out your eye, pluck your tail feathers, or rip up your wings.”

A beautiful song, so much lovelier than gang graffiti on the wall or the pontificating of despots in the United Nations. No wonder we all love song birds.

Memorial Day weekend, and the trailer and I are planted in our favorite campground up on the coast. I started coming up here sometime in the middle of the ’70s, and I’ve been returning ever since, often several times a year.

I’ve watched the trees grow up. I believe I have followed several generations of deer as they start out as spotted fawns, then morph into adults, and finally show up with their own little ones. I’ve invested roughly half my life coming here, so I guess I kind of claim this place as my very own. Which, of course, it isn’t.

I’ve always brought the dogs, and I’m a poor example of responsible pet ownership. When I’m not working, I kind of turn them loose, too.

So when we took a walk around the campground this morning, I didn’t hook up the poodle to her leash. It’s my campground, after all. And the camp host busted us. Because it is really hers, and she let me know it. I pouted a bit over that, and the poodle and I retreated to the trailer, tails between our legs.

Looking out my window again, I watched a goldfinch land in my campsite, on the very tip of a dying plant. The flowers had gone to seed, and when the plant stopped swinging under his weight, he patiently groomed off all those seeds.

I gladly share my turf with this pretty bird. I guess I can also share my campground with the other folks, too.

Dr. Robert Hallstrom is a veterinarian practicing in Pittsburg. His column appears each Sunday in the East County Times. You can reach him at roberthallstrom@att.net. The opinions in this column are those solely of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinion of the newspaper.

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